


The Hoping Pot

by whitetiger91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Childhood, Family, Fluff, Gen, Growing Up, Lovegoods, Scamanders - Freeform, The Hopping Pot - Freeform, Twins, fairytales - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16759123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitetiger91/pseuds/whitetiger91
Summary: "I wish that my twin knew it was okay to play with me." Lorcan has started to realise how different he and Lysander really are; the trouble is, his brother hasn't.





	The Hoping Pot

"Sleep tight, don't let the Blibbering Humdingers bite."

Lorcan groaned at his mother's words, but it was not nearly as loud as the groan that came after his twin's next words.

"Can't you tell us a story?" Lysander asked, snuggling further into his Puffskein-patterned comforter.

He glared over at the blond and pulled his own, plain blue sheets up. "We're not babies, Ly. It's okay, Mum, we're fine."

"Ten-year-olds can still have stories," Lysander said, rolling his eyes.

"Indeed they can," their mother said, walking over to their bookshelf. It took her less than a second to find the worn copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , and she glided back over to them with a smile. "'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' again?"

He wrinkled his nose as his mother sat in the chair between their beds. It was bad enough that she was reading them a bedtime story, but a fairytale? He didn't think he'd be able to stand one more reading about how two unlikely people fell in love in front of some dumb fountain that wasn't really magic.

"'The Warlock's Hairy Heart' sounds way cooler," he said.

He didn't dare ask for the other story he'd seen in the book: 'The Tale of the Three Brothers.' For some reason, their mother always shivered at the mere mention of it.

"How about 'The Wizard and the Hopping Pot' instead?"

Lorcan crossed his arms across his chest. "As long as it's not that other version you told us before. I don't want to hear about people 'huggling.'"

"I liked it," Lysander said.

Their mother laughed as she sat down and opened the book. "Alright. 'There was once a kindly old wizard…'"

By the time she finished the story, Lorcan's eyes were drooping. The story had indeed put him to sleep—because it was so boring. The only cool thing about it was that the wizard got chased by a warty pot. If _he'd_ written it, he wouldn't have made the wizard fix his mistakes.

Stifling a yawn, he looked over at Lysander's bed. His twin had already fallen asleep with a small smile on his face.

* * *

"Want to play?"

Lorcan looked up from his breakfast bowl and nodded at Lysander. He didn't think he could finish the 'all natural, ethically sourced' kale mush his father had insisted the family try.

"Great! I'll just grab a few things. Be right back!"

Keeping an eye on his mother who was busy at the stove, he tipped his own breakfast into one of the many pot plants she kept around the house. He then quickly set his plate back on the table and ran out the back door.

It wasn't long before Lysander caught up with him. His brother was holding an old copper cauldron, and as he set it down in the patchy lawn—their mother insisted the garden gnomes and Jarveys were welcome to dig wherever they pleased as "grass could always grow back"—he could see it was full of different craft supplies. Kneeling down, Lorcan pulled out some parchment, scissors, and a few ink bottles.

"What's this for?"

Lysander sat on the lawn and crossed his legs. After fishing out a bright blue peacock-feather quill from the cauldron, he held his hand out. "Parchment please—unless you want to do the drawing?"

"Drawing for what?" he asked, handing over the supplies.

Lysander grinned at him. "A leg of course!"

Lorcan had no words as his brother started sketching it out on the parchment.

"Can you get me the spell-o-tape?" he asked, cutting the leg out.

"Are you going to tell me what all this is?"

The blond shrugged and stuck the parchment leg to the bottom of the cauldron. Then, taking a bottle of violet, sparkly ink, he wrote the words 'Hoping Pot' on the side and stood up.

Lorcan also stood and shook his head. He didn't bother correcting his brother's spelling as he said, "Don't tell me that's supposed to be from that stupid story?"

Lysander grinned. "Yep, it's the Hopping Pot! We can pretend we're the ones in the story. You can be the wizard."

"Can't we do something a little less…" He wanted to say 'babyish,' but when Lysander peered at him with his head tilted, he found he couldn't.

"You can be a villager if you really want," he said. "Come on, you love playing pretend."

"I used to love it; I don't really feel like it anymore."

Lysander slowly nodded. "Oh… You've still got Wrackspurts in your head." He then smiled. "Don't worry, they'll clear out as we play!"

As the boy picked up the quill again and started to draw little fairy-like things on the cauldron's side, Lorcan sighed. The twins may have looked exactly the same, but their resemblance stopped there. He'd discovered long ago that things like 'Wrackspurts' and 'Nargles' and 'Dimblewimbles' were all creatures that his mother had made up to explain things she couldn't. Lysander, on the other hand, still believed in them, and he'd often catch him talking away to the mistletoe when it was Christmastime.

"There, finished the Wrackspurts. Instead of getting rid of warts like in the story, we'll clear you of them. Come on!"

Lorcan sighed but followed his brother around the yard, dutifully acting out the parts Lysander told him to.

"Okay, now the wizard runs through the village waving about his wand. You come out and say, 'I'm cured,' okay?" Lysander thrust his stick 'wand' into the air and ran around. "I'll cure you all! Come one, come all, let me help you!"

"Looks like you need some help alright," a voice said.

Lorcan turned around and, to his horror, spotted two boys leaning on the fence.

"Hi James, hi Fred, want to play?" Lysander asked, holding up the pot.

The two boys looked at each other, smirks rising on their faces. Lorcan's cheeks burned, and he wanted nothing more than to smack his brother over the head. Of course they didn't want to play.

"Actually, we're visiting our grandparents at the moment. Not all of us are there, though, and we thought we might see if you guys wanted to fill in some Quidditch positions," Fred said, gesturing to the house on the hill.

"But it seems you're too busy," James added, his lips twitching as though he was trying not to laugh.

"We're almost finished, aren't we Lorcan?"

Lorcan stared at his feet, willing the ground to swallow him up. Why couldn't the Jarveys have dug bigger holes?

"It's alright, another time," Fred said.

The boys burst into laughter. As Lorcan finally looked up, he saw them walking away.

"Good one, inviting the Toddler Twins," he heard James say.

"Come on, Lorc, there're still heaps of Wrackspurts!"

"Let's finish inside," he mumbled.

* * *

"Wanna play?"

Lorcan glanced up from his novel. It wasn't too bad a book about a boy who was the youngest Auror in the world, but there were only so many chapters about him saving a young witch that he could take.

Still, he raised an eyebrow. "Depends. What do you want to do?"

Lysander grinned. "Well, I was thinking we could go hunting for beasts again."

Lorcan got off the lounge, tossing his book onto the coffee table. He was still a little weary, but searching for beasts in the back paddock was better than reading about whiny girls in frilly dresses any day.

As they headed out into the yard, he scanned for any sign of the boys from the day before. He didn't spot any redheads or brunets lurking about, however, and as the day wore on and he and Lysander mucked around, they didn't appear.

"I've found something!" he said, pointing to a funny shaped rock.

"Coming, Agent L," Lysander called, using the code name they'd given each other years ago.

Lorcan usually called him Explorer Ly, but he didn't want to spoil the fun now with something silly like that. "It's a… um… a Porcopolus," he said as his brother jogged up to him.

Lysander wasn't smiling, however, and he folded his arms across his chest. "Are you making fun of me?"

"What?"

"Everyone knows Porcopoluses don't actually exist," he said, rolling his eyes. "They're just made-up."

"What, like Humdingers?"

"No; Blibbering Humdingers exist."

Lorcan stared at his brother, unable to believe his ears. How could someone who believed in all other made-up creatures, without any proof of them at that, not play along with some other creature?

It seemed Lysander could sense his annoyance, for after staring at his forehead for a little while, he nodded and smiled. "Why don't we play something else? Wait here."

The boy ran back into the house before returning, slightly puffed, with the cauldron from the day before. It did nothing to improve Lorcan's mood, however, and he glared at his twin.

"I don't get it. How could you possibly believe in things like Nargles and Humdingers but not Porcopolus? They're all made up!"

"Lorc, for the last time, they're not made up. Come on, let's play the Hopping Pot game again. It was fun!"

"They _are_ made up." When Lysander looked at him pityingly, Lorcan felt his cheeks burn. Spinning around, he spotted their mother in the side garden, encouraging two gnomes to get along. "Mum, you know your stories about the Nargles? You just made them up, didn't you?"  
His mother turned to them and smiled. "Oh, I can assure you that Nargles are real," she said.

"See—what? No they're not!"

His mother shrugged and turned back to the garden. When he looked back at Lysander, the boy was drawing a few squiggles on the cauldron.

"Okay, I've added Nargles as our next problem. I can make you some Dirigible Plum earrings later. Now, why don't we—"

"I don't want to play your stupid game!" he shouted, smacking the pot out of Lysander's hand.

He stormed back inside, his chest heaving up and down. As he slammed the sliding door, he saw his twin picking up the cauldron and quill. There was still a smile on his face, and as Lorcan looked closer, he saw that he was writing 'bad mannars' on it.

He gritted his teeth. He could imagine what Fred and James would do, let alone any of their cousins, if they saw what Lysander was doing. With his luck, they'd surely tell the entire school when they went to Hogwarts next year, and he'd forever be known as one of the immature 'Toddler Twins.'

He had to make sure his brother grew up now.

* * *

"Do you want to play, Lorcan?" Lysander asked when he walked into the room, putting down his puzzle piece.

"Sure!"

Lorcan smiled, glad his brother had asked. He'd been up the night before researching, and by the time the sun rose, had enough proof from both his parents' and great-grandfather's research notes to put a stop to Lysander's babyish beliefs. He'd gathered their information into a leather-bound notebook he'd found, and had planted it in the backyard. He wanted to break it to his brother gently that the creatures he believed in didn't exist; with any luck, his brother would find the journal as part of their 'game.'

Before he did, however, he wanted to see if perhaps Lysander would grow up without his help.

"I was thinking maybe we could play something different today. How about Quidditch? Or maybe Shuntbumps?" he asked.

He crossed his fingers behind his back as Lysander contemplated the options. Perhaps if he could convince his twin to be into things most of the boys their age should be into, he wouldn't need to break the news to him.

"Shuntbumps sounds fun. Just give me a second," Lysander said, darting up the stairs to his room.

When he returned, Lorcan breathed out a sigh of relief to see that it was without the stupid cauldron. He was holding a backpack, but he knew for certain it wouldn't fit inside.

"Ready? Come on, I'll find the brooms," he said.

Lysander followed him out to the broom shed. It used to be a storage area for their grandfather's printing press, but their father had since cleaned it out and stored his travel equipment in it instead. Taking out two brooms, he turned back to face his twin.

"What are you…"

"Don't they look great? Mum bought them for me in Diagon Alley. She got you blue ones, but we can trade if you want," Lysander said, motioning to his backpack.

Lorcan stared at the neon-green helmet, elbow pads, shin guards, and knee pads that his twin was sporting. They shone as the light caught the Glow All potion that had been sprayed on them, and as he glanced quickly over his shoulder at the house on the hill, he waited for James and Fred to come running out to mock them. There was no way anyone could miss them.

"Take them off," he said, turning back. "Quickly."

Lysander tilted his head. "Why? I'll break something if I fall."

"So? You look ridiculous."

"I think I look cool," he said, spinning around. "Besides, Mum always says 'safety is cool,' remember?"

Lorcan could feel the heat flowing through his body, and he struggled to keep his anger in. Didn't his brother get it? Didn't he know how stupid he looked?

Taking a deep breath, he turned and put the brooms back into the shed. "Alright, if you don't want to get hurt, let's play something else. Why don't we play explorers?"

Lysander grinned. "We can look for Nargles! I had so much trouble finding my clothes this morning. Hold on, let me go get the Hopping Pot."

"No, we won't need it. You won't need those either," he said, looking at the bright safety gear.

"Why not? I made another leg for the pot since the other ripped, so it's good to use."

"We just won't."

"But the Nargles…"

"The Nargles won't be in the game. We're not playing something like that."

It was becoming harder to not snap, and his knuckles were growing white as he clenched them. He was sure that if the boys hadn't seen his brother's gear by now, they would've heard Lysander's whining.

"It'll be fun."

"It won't be…"

"Why?"

"Because Nargles don't exist and if we're going to play a game it needs to be cool."

"The Hopping Pot game is coo—

"I don't want to play stupid baby games with you anymore; you need to grow up! It's embarrassing!" The words came tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.

He looked at his twin, waiting for the boy to start wailing like a baby. Lysander's chin wobbled for a moment, but he soon pressed his lips together in a thin line. The sparkle that had once been in his blue eyes was gone, and slowly, he took off his safety gear.

"That's okay," he said quietly. "I've got my puzzle to finish anyway."

The annoyance that had been flowing through his body just moments before suddenly fizzled out and his stomach churned. He didn't call Lysander back as he trudged to the house, however, and folded his arms.

It hadn't meant to happen like that, but at least now his brother knew.

* * *

For the umpteenth time that morning, Lorcan sighed. He'd already finished his novel—much to his chagrin, it was only to discover it ended with a big smooch between the agent and girl—and there was not much else to do in the house. His father was off trying to find an Umgubular Slashkilter with his grandfather for his upcoming birthday, and the boys from up the road had returned back to their own homes.

Still, as Lysander walked into the room humming, he picked up his book and pretended to be busy. He stared at the book, waiting for his twin to address him. Just like every day that week, however, Lysander walked right past him and out the door, not bothering to ask if he wanted to play.

Lorcan put his book back down and sighed again.

"Why don't you go out with Lysander?" his mother asked, sipping her cup of tea.

He turned to the window, watching as his brother waved around a stick with a large smile on his face. "Why is he so different? It's so embarrassing how he believes in…"

He turned back to his mother, his cheeks growing red. The truth was, whilst he was more practical like their father, Lysander was exactly like their mother.

She gave him a small smile, though, not seeming to have taken offence. "Different isn't always a bad thing," she said, her silvery eyes sparkling.

"I know," Lorcan mumbled. "But you know what I mean. He's my brother and all, but Hogwarts won't… people might… I just think they might not accept us. Look at him!"

Lysander was spinning around the grass, grinning maniacally.

His mother followed his gaze. "What I see is the same boy you've played with for years. And right now, he's playing by himself, without a care for who is or isn't watching. I don't think that'll change at Hogwarts, or after."

Lorcan supposed he did look like he was enjoying himself. "Even if I did play with him, we'd just fight anyway."

"I see. Well, it's a pity that compromising isn't a thing, isn't it? But, if you really don't want to go out, I could find you something else to read," his mother said.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the fairytale book.

"Do you carry that with you everywhere?" he groaned, trying to ignore the fact that she might've had a point. He'd certainly been happy enough to tell Lysander what they should or shouldn't do.

His mother's smile never left her face. "Actually, I read a few of the tales again, and your father and I agree that the Fountain in my favourite story might actually be home to Slashkilters. You can help me read it again for more clues if you want."

Lorcan hopped off his chair, not prepared to read that mushy story again. "Actually, I've got something to do. Thanks, Mum!"

He did have another fairytale to explore though.

* * *

"Do you want to play, Ly?"

Lorcan held his breath as his brother turned around, his stick 'wand' still in his hand. His pale blue eyes looked him up and down, landing upon the object in his hands.

"You don't have to play with me out of pity," Lysander said. "I wouldn't want you to feel like a 'baby.'"

Lorcan bit his tongue, knowing he deserved that jab. He held up the cauldron he'd taken from their room, minus the parchment leg.

"Look, I'm not going to pretend I don't like some of our games, but I know you do, and we still have fun. Which is why I brought this," he said, tapping the purple writing still on the cauldron. "It's our own Hoping Pot. Any time I don't like something, I'll write on a piece of parchment and put it in here, and then we can talk about it without yelling."

" _I_ don't yell."

"I know," Lorcan said, groaning. "You can also use it for anything you don't like, or hope for."

Lysander stared at the cauldron, and for a moment, Lorcan thought he'd turn back to his game. A small smile lit up his face, however, and he took a piece of the parchment that was inside the cauldron.

"Do you have a quill?" he asked, also taking out an inkpot.

He held out the peacock feather quill. "Here…"

"Thanks." Lysander quickly scribbled something down, crumpled the parchment into a ball, and popped it into the cauldron. He then looked at him expectantly. "Well, aren't we going to talk about it?"

Lorcan gulped, not sure what it would say, and took out the ball of parchment.

_I hope that my twin knows it's okay to play with me._

He looked back up, sure that with his smile, they resembled each other again. "How about re-enacting 'The Warlock's Hairy Heart?'"

"Deal."

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story was written as an entry for The Houses Competition, Year 3, Round 7.
> 
> House: Gryffindor
> 
> Year: Head Girl
> 
> Category: Additional
> 
> Prompts: 5. Must feature a Next Gen character
> 
> Additional requirement: Specified word count: 3228–3382 words
> 
> Word count: 3350 words (written on Google docs)
> 
> Betas: Thank you to Shiba (Shibalyfe) for beta'ing and helping with word cut down! Xx
> 
> Additional A/N: Warning: Contains spoilers if you haven't read The Tales of Beedle the Bard. You don't have to to really understand this story, but I figured since the judges were already marking the other additionals and I was inspired after attempting the other one, it would be a little fun to include them in this (including the fact that 'huggling' is a word from the tale's other version) :). I don't own the beginning of the tale as she quotes it. Some sources said to italicise the titles of the stories, and others to use quotation marks, so I went with the latter since they are part of the one book in this story, like chapters.
> 
> I'd like to think that one twin takes after Luna (quiet, childlike, innocent) and the other doesn't as much (but of course is still kind). I haven't read or watched The Cursed Child, nor do I count it as canon, so whilst being raised by their parents, I do think James and Fred could still be a little cruel like many children their age. This is of course based on the experience many of us have at their age—whether that was being on the child side and wanting to keep playing, or wanting to be more adult-like and 'popular.' I know there was a lot more scope for the Next-Gen prompt, and I'm kicking myself for not having more time, but I hope you like this plot anyway.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Xx


End file.
